I shifted my grip on the bamboo hilt, dropping my stance.
Arthur moved first. Without a sound, he closed the distance in a single clean stride, the shinai whistling down toward my shoulder.
CLACK!
The sharp crack of bamboo resonated off the stone walls as I deflected the strike off-angle, pivoting on my back foot. Instead of retreating, I pushed forward, driving a sharp thrust toward his sternum. Arthur tilted his torso just enough to let the tip graze his shirt, sweeping his blade upward to knock mine aside and aiming a lightning-fast horizontal strike across my ribs.
I dropped low, letting the wind of his swing pass over my head, and snapped my bamboo blade upward in a rising counter.
Arthur's eyes sharpened. He stepped back half an inch, bringing his guard down to catch the blow right near the tsuba. The impact rattled up both our forearms, but my footing held firm.
'Not bad. My reflexes are definitely improving.'
I stepped off the centerline, faked a low strike toward his knee, and snapped the tip up toward his collarbone.
Arthur blocked it cleanly with a flick of his wrist, but the force of the parry pushed him half a step back.
He didn't counter. Instead, he dropped his guard completely, stepping out of his fighting stance.
"Hold on," Arthur said, blinking in genuine confusion.
I lowered my shinai, catching my breath. "What? Did I mess up the footwork?"
Arthur didn't answer right away. His brow furrowed, his blue eyes scanning my face with a deeply puzzled expression.
"Kenji..." Arthur tilted his head, staring at me. "Has your hair grown?"
"Huh?"
I reached up with my free hand to push my bangs out of my eyes.
My fingers caught on thick, dark strands. Then they kept going.
I grabbed a handful of hair, pulling it forward over my chest. It didn't stop at my jawline or brush the top of my ears like it had that morning. The strands fell past my neck, draping all the way down over my shoulders.
I stared at the locks in my hand, completely frozen.
"Wait, what?"
"Hold that thought," Arthur said, immediately lowering his shinai and holding up a hand. "Stay right there. I'm going to grab a mirror."
Before I could answer, he turned on his heel and jogged back inside through the terrace doors.
I stood alone in the cool courtyard, lowering the bamboo practice blade to my side. A strange, prickling warmth tingled across my scalp, buzzing like faint static.
I reached up with one hand, running my fingers through my hair, and paused.
'Wait... it's still going?'
It wasn't just my imagination. The hair was actively growing and settling in real time. Messy, feathered bangs fell across my forehead and brushed the bridge of my nose, while thick, layered golden locks spilled down past my jawline, cascading over my neck and tumbling down across my shoulders and collarbone in a wild, tousled mane.
A moment later, the terrace door slid open again. Arthur walked down the stone steps, holding up a handheld mirror.
"Here," Arthur said, angling the glass toward me. "See for yourself."
I looked into the reflection.
The image staring back at me was almost unrecognizable. The short, plain cut was completely gone. In its place was a sharp, shaggy wolf-cut of layered blonde hair, with untamed strands falling down around my face and longer locks draping well past my shoulders.
I tilted my head, checking both sides in the glass.
'Huh.'
At first, I'd figured I'd just grab some shears and chop it all off, but staring at it now... I strangely liked it. It looked damn good. It gave me a distinct presence, and cutting it felt like a waste.
Only problem was the practicality.
"It looks great, but it's definitely going to get in my eyes if I'm moving around," I muttered, blowing a loose lock out of my face. I glanced over at Arthur. "Hey, Big Bro. Got a cord or a tie on you? Mind tying it back for me?"
Arthur blinked in surprise, then a bright thrilled smile broke across his face.
"Of course," Arthur said eagerly, reaching into his coat and pulling out a dark leather tie. "Turn around, I'll take care of it."
He stepped behind me. With surprisingly gentle precision, his fingers gathered the longer locks trailing down my back, pulling them smooth and binding them into a clean, practical ponytail while leaving the shorter layers to frame my jaw.
"There," Arthur said, stepping back and giving my shoulder a firm, proud pat. "A fine look, Kenji. It suits you."
I reached behind my head, testing the tie. It held tight, completely clearing my line of sight while keeping the hair off my neck.
"Thanks, Arthur," I said, spinning the shinai in my hand. I reset my stance, tapping the tip of the bamboo against the stone. "Want to keep going?"
"Let's," Arthur replied, his smile instantly shifting back into the razor-sharp focus of a swordsman.
He didn't give a count. He pushed off the flagstones, crossing the distance in a blur and bringing his shinai down in a swift diagonal cut.
I shifted my weight, bringing my bamboo up to deflect the blow with a clean CLACK, spinning smoothly on my heel to send a counter toward his ribs. Arthur caught the strike with the flat of his blade, returning fire with three rapid-fire thrusts that I knocked aside one by one.
Yet, with every exchange, my footwork felt lighter, the bamboo moving like an extension of my arm.
Arthur pushed off the flagstones, the tip of his shinai tracing a tight spiral before snapping straight toward my throat.
I stepped off the center line, twisting my shoulders to let the bamboo whistle past my collar. Before he could recover, I snapped my wrist, cracking the edge of my practice blade against his guard.
CLACK!
Arthur didn't give an inch. He absorbed the impact, rotated his hips, and brought his shinai sweeping low in a vicious horizontal cut aimed at my knees. I vaulted back, the gust of his swing kicking up dried leaves from the stones, and landed with my weight primed.
The second my boots touched down, I launched forward.
I faked a downward slash at his temple, waiting for his guard to rise. The instant his hands lifted to catch the blow, I hitched the motion, dropped my center of gravity, and drove the butt of the hilt toward his solar plexus.
Arthur's eyes flashed. He pivoted cleanly on his back foot, twisting his torso out of the path of the strike while bringing his blade down like an executioner's axe.
I whipped my shinai upward in a two-handed block.
SMACK!
The force of the collision drove a sharp shockwave through my forearms, rattling my teeth. We locked hilts, bamboo groaning under the pressure as our breath tangled in the cool night air. Arthur leaned into the bind, testing my leverage, but I kicked my heel out, levered my grip, and shoved his blade off-axis to create an opening for a snapping backhand strike.
Arthur snapped his head back, letting the edge graze the air an inch from his nose, and drove a lightning-fast thrust at my chest. I deflected it with the flat of my blade, stepping deep into his guard to deliver a counter-slash across his ribs, while his return swing came slicing right back toward my neck.
Both blades froze simultaneously—mine resting against his side, his hovering a hair's breadth from my collarbone.
For three seconds, neither of us moved.
Then, Arthur cracked a broad, genuine smile and lowered his weapon.
"Magnificent," Arthur said, exhaling a steady breath. "Your reads are becoming razor sharp. We'll end it there for tonight."
"Good call," I huffed, lowering my shinai and resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
We gathered the practice swords, set them back against the stone railing, and headed toward the terrace doors.
The second we stepped inside the residence, a wave of loud, heated voices hit us like a brick wall.
"I don't give a damn about your tea or your etiquette, you oversized dog!" Baobhan Sith sneered, her red heels clicking sharply against the polished wood floor as she crossed her arms and glared at Barghest. "Mother and I were perfectly comfortable until you started barking orders like you own the place!"
"Mind your tongue, Tristan," Barghest rumbled back, crossing her thick arms over her massive chest, her towering frame casting a shadow over the younger fairy. "A household without discipline descends into chaos. If you cannot maintain basic decorum in our Master's estate, I will personally enforce it!"
"Hah! Look at the two fae mutts snapping at each other," Nobunaga barked from the couch, sprawled out with her boots resting on the coffee table. "Neither of you has the guts to actually throw down! Why don't you both shut up and bring the Demon King another drink already?!"
"Silence, all of you," Morgan's voice cut through the noise like a winter frost. She sat regally on the central armchair, her pale veil draped over her shoulders and her icy blue eyes radiating pure, chilling disdain. "Your squabbling is beneath contempt. Another word from any of you, and I will freeze this entire room to the marrow."
The four-way argument ground to an absolute halt the moment the terrace door slid shut behind us.
Four sets of eyes snapped toward the doorway.
Arthur and I were standing side by side. I was completely drenched in sweat, my shirt clinging to my chest and my long blonde ponytail damp against my neck, breathing heavily from the extended sparring match. Arthur, on the other hand, barely looked ruffled, standing tall with just a single bead of sweat tracing down his temple.
The room went dead silent, their petty shouting match instantly forgotten.
I wiped my brow with the back of my forearm and offered a casual wave.
"Evening," I said, catching my breath.
"Hey, Nobu. Barghest. Sith."
I turned my head toward the armchair, letting my eyes settle on the pale queen sitting in the center of the room.
"Good to see you too, older sister."
The moment my attention settled on Barghest, she moved.
Dropping smoothly down onto one knee before us, she placed a massive, gauntleted fist over her heart in a formal salute, bowing her head.
"Welcome back, King Arthur," Barghest said with crisp respect. Then, raising her head directly toward me, her sharp, imposing expression melted into something completely soft and devoted. "Welcome home, Master."
Looking down at her kneeling there, an intense urge crept into my right hand.
looking at the earnest, expectant tilt of her head, she didn't look like an apocalyptic calamity at all. She looked like a giant, affectionate guard dog practically waiting for a headpat.
'Keep it together. Don't pet the six-foot-two knight in front of everyone.'
I coughed into my fist, clearing my throat before I gave in. "At ease, Barghest. So... what were you all shouting about?"
"Nothing worth your concern," Morgan replied smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. She patted the empty cushion on the sofa between herself and Baobhan Sith. "Come sit by me, Kenji."
I walked over and dropped down onto the couch right between the two fae.
The second I sat, Morgan shifted, wrapping both arms around my side and leaning her head against my damp shoulder, not caring about the sweat in the slightest.
"How was your day?" Morgan murmured quietly, her cold demeanor softening as she rested against me.
"Fine. Dealt with Caster," I replied.
I slid my left arm around Morgan's waist, pulling her firmly against my ribs, and simultaneously reached my right arm around Baobhan Sith's shoulders, tugging her in close as well.
Sith stiffened instantly, letting out a sharp click of her tongue. She flushed red, but she didn't pull away—she just crossed her arms tightly, leaning into my side while stubbornly glaring at the far wall.
"How was your day, sister?" I asked Morgan, looking down at her.
"Much improved now that you are back," she murmured, resting her hand flat over my chest.
I leaned back against the cushions, glancing across the room at Arthur, who was pouring a glass of water at the counter. Scanning the quiet living room, I realized something was missing.
"Hey, Arthur," I called out. "Where are Dorumon and Sakura? I figured they'd be hanging out down here."
Arthur turned around, glass in hand, offering a bright, proud smile. "They are in your bedroom, Kenji."
I blinked. "My bedroom? Why the hell are they in my room?"
"It was a solution Kariya," Arthur explained, looking utterly pleased with himself. "Dorumon refused to sleep anywhere except your bed. Sakura, on the other hand, refused to rest unless she could hold Dorumon. Therefore, placing Sakura in your bed with Dorumon solved both dilemmas at once."
I stared at the King of Knights in dead, horrified silence.
'Are you completely out of your mind Kariya?!'
A sudden, overwhelming urge to leap across the living room and strangle my own older brother clawed at my chest. Leaving a traumatized six-year-old girl asleep in my bed while chaotic Servants roamed the mansion was an absolute disaster waiting to happen.
I took a slow, agonizing breath, rubbing my temples.
'It's fine. It's just a kid sleeping with a digital monster. Nothing is going to happen.'
A couple of minutes later, after carefully untangling myself from Morgan and Sith, I headed down the hall toward my room to check on them.
I stopped in front of the door, grabbed the brass handle, and pushed it open.
"I am his dragon, which means I naturally hold seniority!" Melusine's sharp, indignant voice echoed through the bedroom.
"No! Dorumon is mine right now!" Sakura cried back, sitting squarely in the center of the blankets, stubbornly clutching a squished, suffocating Dorumon against her chest like a stuffed animal.
The latch clicked as the door swung all the way open.
All three heads snapped toward the doorway.
The argument instantly died.
"Onii-San!" Sakura gasped, her face lighting up with pure joy.
"Master!" Dorumon choked out, wiggling frantically out of her grip.
Before I could even take a single step inside the room, both Sakura and the purple beast scrambled off the bed, sprinting across the floor and throwing themselves straight at me.